Mad Dog
by Enige-iets
Summary: Klaus is the mad dog, taken in by the law, chewed up & spat out again. Left to rot in a mental facility for convicted criminals, his prospects are grim, but Caroline's are worse. She's the unfortunate careworker assigned to try & tame the wild beast. Klaroline. Fluffy. Grim. No sexual content. Rated M for bucketloads of blood & gore, murder & psychosis for your viewing pleasure.
1. Prologue

_**A/N:**_ First attempt at a Klaroline, forgive me while the first few chapter feel their characters out.

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Prologue.

"So," A husky voice whispered across the room from the shadows, greeting Caroline as she entered. "You're my new shrink."

It was a statement, not a question; he knew exactly what this was about. Silently – the head of her department had advised her against actually conversing with him as much as possible – Caroline took the only chair in the room and moved it to the middle, facing his bunk and the shadows. This was her first case. Not the first case of the day, the first case of the ever ever. The department head had looked frankly panicked when she saw the file Caroline had carried in with her that morning. This was apparently not the sort of job one was typically given on their first day on the job, but Caroline was the newbie, she didn't get to pick and choose. Abandoning any attempts to make herself comfortable on the cold little metal chair, she propped the file open on her knees and began to observe him. Step 1: Identify any behavioural traits which fall out of the ordinary.

A lithely muscled, pale white arm extended from the darkness and a thin finger indicated the furthest corner of the room. "Try your best not to end up like the last one, this room isn't aired very often."

Curious, despite her own better judgement, Caroline looked over her shoulder at the corner. An unappealing brown stain puddled on the floor. She swallowed nervously. Yes, she recalled having read the final report of Miss Attridge before she quit the profession for animal behaviour-training. Niklaus Mikaelson was apparently quite the tough customer. However, Caroline was confident that she was quite tough too and was determined not to let any threats – subtle, idle or otherwise – upset her.

She turned her eyes back to the man in front of her. There was only one tiny, football-sized window in the room, in the farthest corner above the stain and as a result the shadows it threw over Niklaus' bed were thick, heavy shadows which concealed all but his outline, the vague shape of the man, or beast, who lounged upon the covers.

He appeared to have both hands folded over his chest and was looking straight up at the underside of the bunk on top of him. The other bunk was, naturally, empty. There was no one who dared share a room with him and this was a mental facility besides. It would be uncouth – not to mention dangerous – to put another person in the room with him for an extended period of time. There was apparently to be no removal of the extra bunk either because it housed all of Niklaus' possessions. There were no cupboards or shelves anywhere in the room.

"You can talk to me, sweetheart." He said, the whisper of a laugh present in his voice. "I don't bite."

"That's not what it says here." Caroline said at last, tapping one manicured fingernail onto the file in her lap. "It says that you are an extremely aggressive individual prone to 'the sort of mouthing tendencies usually found in most hunting breeds of dog'."

A bark of laughter exploded from the shadows. "Really? It says all that, does it?"

"It does."

"That doesn't paint me in a very good light…"

Caroline's eyes narrowed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leant his elbows on his knees. Only his legs to mid-thigh, his forearms and the smallest tuft of his hair emerged from the shadows, but a beady pair of eyes twinkled out at her from the blackness.

"Where are my manners? My name is 'Niklaus Mikaelson', but you may call me 'Klaus'." He said jovially, extending a hand for her to shake. She eyed the hand until he laughed again, a quiet chuckle this time and said, "What's the matter, love?"

She flicked to the back of the file and tapped the last page, "Your track record with previous care-workers doesn't exactly fill me with confidence about what you'll do if I ever take your hand." She said, matter-of-factly with one eyebrow quirked.

He shrugged in the darkness and she thought she saw a grin break across his face. The hand retracted and he leant back into the shadows, legs crossing at the knees. "Fair enough, but I still haven't heard your name, love."

"It's 'Caroline'."

"'Caroline'," He repeated. "Lovely."

"Thank you." She said and then flicked the file back to the appropriate page. Step 2: Self-evaluation. "I have some questions I'd like you to answer please." The quicker she got this over with, the sooner she could get out of the room. Before she'd entered, she felt nervous, unsure of what to expect when she first opened the door, but once she was inside she was fairly sure of how the situation would pan out. This was _not_ how she had expected things to go and as a result she was back to feeling nervous again. He didn't seem crazy. He didn't even seem abnormal. She was a pretty girl, she knew what flirting sounded like, and he was most definitely flirting with her like any normal guy. This was absolutely normal, bog-standard male pattern behaviour. She wasn't sure if she could handle this now.

"I'm not in the mood for answering questions. Let's talk about you."

She was taken aback, "Seriously?"

"Yes." She hadn't meant for him to answer her, it was a non-rhetorical question after all, but he was one of those English types who took everything so seriously. Even non-rhetorical questions.

"I don't want-" She began in her no-funny-business tone.

"It doesn't matter what you don't want," He cut her off. "We'll eventually end up talking about you, love, so why not get it over with now?" His foot had begun to wag in the air and she made a mental note to write that down later; 'patient was entirely relaxed, even beginning to enjoy himself'. She had no pens or pencils with her because they were deemed 'weaponry' and therefore 'dangerous'. "I don't want to be stuck in this room, but I am."

"You're in here for a reason, Niklaus. I am also-"

"'Klaus'."

One of her eyebrows twitched. Her mother had taught her never to interrupt someone and his constant interruptions were grating on her nerves.

"It says in here that your name is 'Niklaus'," She said tersely, tapping firmly at the folder, "Not 'Klaus'."

"My father called me 'Niklaus'." He said in a slightly more clipped tone and the foot now ceased to wag. "Would you like to know what happened to him?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. Mental note 2: 'Patient is uncooperative and throws menial threats'. "Are you seriously threatening to do me in for using the name you were born with? Don't be such a drama queen."

Silence. Apparently that wasn't the response he was expecting. The foot resumed its wagging and Caroline felt herself relax a little as well. It was all well and good denying his threats any legitimacy, but denying herself any nerves was quite another. This was only the first case of the day, but already she could tell it was going to be an extra-long day.

"Where were we?" She asked no one in particular, taking a quick glance at the file, but once again Niklaus answered for her.

"We were talking about you."

"We were _not_ talking about me, I was about to ask you some questions when you interrupted me." She wagged the index finger of her left hand at him while the right hand sought to turn the page, "I don't appreciate being interrupted by the way."

"That's too bad, love," The eyes twinkled in the darkness again. "Because I love running over you."

Was that a threat? She narrowly avoided scowling at him and scoured the page in front of her instead. "When was your last medical examination?"

"2011". Came the bored reply.

She made a mental note to pencil him into the physician's schedule sometime soon.

"Your last eye test?"

"1998."

She pulled a face, but added the opticians to the list as well.

"Dentist?"

"2011."

"Last trip to the sexual health clinic?"

"Why? Are you going to be accompanying me, love?" There was laughter in his voice but this time she really did scowl at him. She disliked him already.

"Last prostrate examination?"

He didn't answer. Ah good, something she could remind him of when he misbehaved. He was an odd character this 'Niklaus'. He had apparently been convicted of the murder of two senior warrant officers, a Sergeant and a female intelligence agent although he pleaded innocent on the last account. His lawyer – some high-roller bought in by his brother for his specific case – had advised him to plead to insanity and the jury had, inexplicably, handed it to him. Most of the clinical world was convinced the rich brother had bought the jury off too, but it didn't change the sentence much. He was slapped with a 10 year unreviewed imprisonment without parole for all four murders, to be served in a mental facility outside of the city limits. At the end of the 10 years he would be assessed and most likely shut away for a further decade until his next assessment. It was a no win situation, but it was on American soil, so it was the best he could have hoped for. Much of the world wanted him dead.

"Please tell me about your conviction and trial in your own words." She said. A quick derisive huff was all she received in answer. "I have to hear this, 'Klaus'," She said, hoping the nick-name would coax him somewhat, "Or I'm not doing my job."

"What is your job exactly, love?" He asked, voice low as he uncrossed his legs and resumed his forward position, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him as though he were the shrink and she were the invalid. "Are you here to ensure I really am as mad as I report to be? Or are you here to see if I'm ripe for a killing yet?"

"Ripe for a-!" She stuttered, "No! I'm here to make sure you get through 10 years of this!" She gesticulated around the empty room to indicate what 'this' was.

"Oh so you're here to make friends!" He clapped mockingly before his tone turned sour. "You're not going to be here in 10 years, Caroline. You probably won't even be here in 10 weeks."

"I have every intention of-"

"I don't want to hear any more of this boring drivel." He cut her off, "It's been fun, Caroline, but it's time for you to leave."

"I'm not done speaking." She said sharply. Fingers closing around the top of the file. Interrupting again. "Tell me about your conviction."

"Next time," He said lazily, swinging his legs back onto the bed and reclining until he was comfortable, "I'm sure you've got other stuff to be doing."

She glared at him a while longer before the silence eventually persuaded her to leave. She stood from the chair with a click of her tongue, closing the file deliberately before tucking the thing under her arm and dragging the chair noisily back to where she got it from. Ignoring what the head of department had said about not showing her back to the man on the bed, she banged on the heavy iron door and waited to be let out.

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**_A/N:_**So... Thoughts? Feelings? I know Caroline's character could take some work atm, but I'll work that out in C1, which should be out relatively soon :) (If anyone reads this at all)...

Anyway, thanks for taking the time, I hope it didn't disappoint.

-Iets


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ Ok, a little break, but I wrote a few practise chapters and wasn't sure how I would do things, but I worked it out and here we are. I'm going to try and keep these chapters short and sweet, but who knows, they might get a little longer then further into things I get :D

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C1

Klaus was already half asleep when Caroline let herself into his cell the second time. He cracked open one eye as she scraped the metal chair into the centre of the room again and arranged herself upon it. He viewed her skirt-straightening with something of a critical eye. Miss Attridge had been a frump. She always wore the same knee-length tweed skirt and awful red jumper. It never changed from day to day and she always had her hair tied up in a tight bun on the back of her head. As boring as bog-standard got really.

Caroline was, by comparison, far easier on the eyes. Today she wore a light pink blouse, minus any jacket – which was quite brave because it could get rather cold in his cell – a mid-thigh length beige skirt and beige suede pumps. Her hair was pinned loosely out of her face, but was allowed to curl softly around her neck, one stray lock curling up to gently caress her jaw. And she wore make-up. Klaus thanked whatever bright spark it was who came up with make-up. Half the caseworkers he'd had over the last year were rabid old bags, Miss Attridge included, and a little dash of make-up here and there would have made the world of difference. Caroline didn't look as though she necessarily needed the make-up however, and he was far less inclined to hurt her if only because she was pretty.

"It's polite to knock, you know, love." He drawled, stifling a yawn as she flipped her file open on her knees.

"I'll remember that." She said, sounding almost sincere, before fishing a pen from her skirt pocket and pulling off the lid. "Are you going to answer some questions today?"

"Only if you give me something in return."

"This again?" She muttered, sounding less than impressed. He rolled over in his bunk and presented her with his back. Not that she could see him. There were a few moments of silence before Caroline finally, begrudgingly asked, "What do you want?"

His brow twitched in appreciation of her spunk. "Careful, love, say it like that and I might take it as an open invitation to take something from you."

"Alright, what would you _like_ me to _give_ you?"

A smile threatened a coup, but he beat it down mercilessly and rolled to face her again. "Are you really suggesting a trade?"

"Isn't that what you're suggesting?" She crossed her legs. Klaus' eyes – his traitorous eyes – were drawn to the definition in her thigh, exposed by the way her skirt had pulled back with her movement. Did she run, or something? Cycling maybe? No, cycling wouldn't create a definition line like that… Ballet maybe?

"Dance for me and I'll answer some questions."

She scoffed. He knew she would. "I am _not_ dancing for you."

"Then I'm not answering any of your questions." He said with a grin, seeing the frustration on her face. "Take it or leave it, love."

When the silence between them stretched on for more than a few moments, he began to wonder if he'd broken her. Sure, her eyes were searching for his in the darkness, but other than that she hadn't moved an inch. Not a muscle.

"Fine." She said abruptly, standing up and dragging the chair noisily back to the corner she'd gotten it from. She deposited the file, pen and pen-top on the chair then turned to face him. "But you have to answer any question I give you."

"As long as you keep dancing, love."

She raised an eyebrow, looking as though a sarcastic comment was only seconds away, but settled for a shake of the head instead, setting her feet shoulder width apart and rolling her shoulders backwards as a start.

"What would you like to know?" Klaus asked, watching as her foot swept around behind her in a circle and she rocked on it, both arms floating upwards, as though weightless.

"What do you think of your crimes?" Caroline asked, letting her head fall back as her arms continued to rise. Once all four fingers were pointed at the ceiling, she opened her chest, letting her arms open like a pair of wings, slowly, as though she were a swan just greeting the dawn.

"I think they were perfectly justified, if that's what you want to know." He replied, propping himself up on his side to get a better view as she changed again, straightening up onto her forward leg, arms splayed to either side, her backward leg raising perpendicular with the side of her body as she spun 360 degrees in slow rotation.

"Tell me why they were justified."

"Before I tell you that," He said, licking dry lips, "You have to understand that I didn't kill the woman. She was caught in the fire of one of the officers."

Her pirouette had turned itself into an open and closing exercise, one step forward, stretching both arms before her, and then two steps back, closing her arms in tightly around her body. She made another rotation and Klaus was forced to admire how wonderfully straight her legs were. A perfect right angle.

Clearing his throat to distract himself from her distraction, he continued. "The Officers were shirking their duties. If we were caught doing the same we'd have been carted off and court marshalled."

"And you were court marshalled." She said repeating the motion – one step forward, two steps back – before changing her rotation to a backwards one, left leg raised and slightly curved, left arm raised above her head, right arm held out at a right angle to her body, also slightly curved. It was practised, refined… Perfectly executed. She was definitely a dancer.

"But for a legitimate reason." He pointed out. "This time they were doing me in for something a little more evil than taking a piss."

She snorted at his language – such an unseemly sound for a dancer – and began what appeared – for the first few steps as least – to be a pas de bas. "Your killing them seems a bit extreme though, doesn't it? If all they're doing is 'taking a piss'."

"They were cowards, Caroline." He reasoned as she spun again. "They were cowering behind sandbags while we soldiers fought, ordering us forwards while they stayed behind. My comrades, my friends died because of their idiocy and then, when faced with this accusation, they waved their rank in my face as though that quelled any sense of injustice."

"And it was these specific men who killed your friends?"

"No, but those who did didn't last long either." He flashed her a wicked grin, but it was lost in the darkness of his bunk bed.

"Were there no other ways of quelling your 'feelings of injustice'?" She asked, stepping to the side and turning on the fore-foot, 270 degrees, before swaying forward and backwards again, as though pulled by some invisible string.

"No." He said tersely. Just the memory itself was enough to have him in a bad mood. "I doubt you've ever seen your loved ones die before your very eyes. Had their blood soak over your hands, their brains splattered over your clothing. There is _no_ way to quell that feeling of injustice."

She stopped dancing and tucked her hair behind her ears again. "You'd be surprised." She said, sounding rather terse herself. "I've experienced more death and horror than you would expect."

He scoffed. Yeah right. A dog perhaps? Her grandparents maybe, a distant cousin? It was unlikely that she had been splattered in their insides, spent a minute spitting gore from her mouth and wiping it hastily from her eyes. He doubted she had heard their last cries, begging her not to leave them as they bled out in the sand, their wounds filling with grit, but weeping too quickly… Death was an unbecoming thing, but it became the battle field and he doubted, highly _highly_ doubted she'd seen one of those.

"We're done here." He said roughly and rolled back over to present her with his back.

"I'm not finished with you, Niklaus."

"Well that's a shame, love, because I'm finished with you."

Knowing when to call her loses, Caroline rolled her eyes and rearranged her clothing, it had become slightly ruffled in her dancing. He would talk at some point, tomorrow maybe, but if he was stubborn enough to kill a man, three men for that matter, simply for doing their jobs, then he was undoubtedly stubborn enough to ignore her for the rest of the afternoon. Although what had put the bee in his bonnet this time she was sure she would never know.

Hearing the door shut, Klaus rolled over and stood up from his bed. Once upon a time he would have humoured her. But then again, once upon a time he had been unaware of the wiles of the psychoanalyst, been unfamiliar with the prick of the psychic needle, driven into his mentality to draw out all the nasty memories and display them neatly in front of him to be seen. If she wanted to know about him and what made him tick, she would have to work harder than that. He was wise to all the old tricks now and no amount of 'I know exactly how you feel' was going to get her anywhere.

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_**A/N:**_So, you know the drill, comment, critique, advice, yadda yadda :)

Oh, and thanks for reading :)

-Iets


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